Battleship

“It’s a little more than anger, though. Your last therapist said you’ve lost your will to fight. Is that right?”

“I lost my fight when I lost my legs.”

“You know you’re the same man inside. Same brain, same heart, same soul that made you,” and she glanced down once more. “A Golden Gloves champ at twenty-two, Bronze Star recipient in Afghanistan. All that’s still in there.”

“Nah. I’m half a man, and half a man ain’t enough to be a soldier.” He looked away from her then as he said under his breath, “Or to see anything.”

She considered that for a moment and then said, “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

She walked away from him as he called after her in a mocking tone, “Where the hell am I gonna go?”

Less than a minute later, she returned from the equipment room with a backpack that had the rehab center logo on it. She took it to the small kitchen area nearby and started loading it with bottled water, protein bars, bananas, and the like. He watched her in confused silence, apparently having no desire to give her the satisfaction of asking what she thought she was doing. Once she was done, she slung the backpack over her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

He stared at her blankly. “Go where?”

For answer, she gripped him by the arm. He had no particular inclination to stand up, and was visibly startled when Sam hauled him to his artificial feet with no problem. She knew that she was stronger than she looked and liked to surprise people with her physical capabilities every so often.

“We’re going to take a little walk.”

“Walk where?” He was clearly suspicious.

“We’re climbing a mountain. Up to Saddle Ridge.”

Mick looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or just sit back down and dare her to get him on his feet again. “No, we are not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“No.” He shook his head firmly as if that was the last word on the subject.

Sam completely ignored his reluctance. “Got sunscreen? Don’t worry about it if you don’t; I grabbed some. Come on, let’s see if we’ve got any hiking shoes around here that’ll do you better than what you’ve got now.”

She headed down the hallway. Please let him follow me, please, she thought desperately while making sure none of that desperation showed in her body language. The only way he was going to have confidence in himself was to have it first in her. If he stayed right where he was, asserting that he wouldn’t be climbing a mountain, a hill—or anything, for that matter—there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

To her utter relief, she heard a thump thump behind her. He was following her. She glanced over her shoulder as if his obeying her had never been in doubt and said, “Step lively, soldier. We haven’t got all day.”

Sam trudged up the mountain, glad that she made a point of keeping in shape. They were surrounded by lush, green vegetation, and the air smelled thick and sweet.

She was in the lead, if for no other reason than she wanted to make sure the path in front of them was clear. Taking spills was part of the learning curve when it came to prosthetic legs, but it was one thing to stumble while working in the gym and quite another taking a header over a projecting tree root or a gaping hole in the path. That could be catastrophic. She was trying to build up Mick’s confidence, not cause him to get banged up from sprawling in the dirt.

Mick pushed forward. He was concentrating, his brow wrinkled and covered with sweat.

She didn’t want to get too far in front of him, but she also didn’t want him to feel as if she was taking it easy on him. The man was five foot nine inches’ worth of pride. So she stopped, pretending to catch her breath. “You’re doing pretty good for a guy who doesn’t want to be climbing.”

“This isn’t no Pike’s Peak,” he said disdainfully.

“It’s a start.”

“My grandmother could climb this hill.”

“It’s a start.”

“I got a dog named Mustard. He could climb this damn hill.”

“Good.” She adjusted her backpack. “Then you and Mustard can spend some quality time together back in Colorado.” She started to turn away in order to continue their ascent.

“Mustard got hit by a dump truck eight years ago. Mustard’s dead.” He sounded indifferent, although it was hard for her to determine whether he was just maintaining a macho act.

She stared at him. “I’m sorry.”

He trudged past her, taking the lead. “I’m over it. And by the way, I’m a big boy. I can watch my path just fine.”

Sam smiled to herself. He doesn’t miss a trick. Might be fake legs, but nothing’s wrong with his mind.

He called back to her, “What’s a semi-fiance?”

She moaned softly, and then thankfully, before he could press the question—which she was pretty sure he was going to do—her cell phone started ringing. Saved by the bell. She glanced at the caller ID and saw Hopper’s name. Please let it be good news. Maybe they’ve reconsidered the captain’s mast. She answered it, putting the phone to her ear and moving away from Mick to get some modicum of privacy. “I thought you’d be out of cell range by now.”

“I’ve got about five minutes,” Hopper’s voice came back. He was popping in and out. “Five minutes” came across more like “ive in uts.” But she had long practice in deciphering sentences during patchy cell phone calls.

“Yeah. How’s it going?” She unslung her backpack since just standing in one place made it seem heavier.

“It’s all right. Something crashed near us. We gotta go check it out.”

Something crashed? This time the patchiness of their connection made her concerned. Had there been another brushing incident, like last year? Had Hopper gone off and punched out another officer? They might wind up skipping the court-martial and go straight to sentencing. “A ship?” she said tentatively.

“I don’t know. Not one of ours.”

She closed her eyes and let out a relieved sigh. Whatever was going on, Hopper wasn’t in the middle. He didn’t even sound especially worked up about it. Thank God. One less thing for him to get himself in trouble over.

There was a lengthy silence and Sam started to think that the connection had gone dead. But then she heard Hopper’s voice say awkwardly, “I know that I messed up. I’m really sorry and I’m going to try really hard to make it right. I’ll talk to your dad as soon as we get back.”

She appreciated the fact that he wanted to try and make things right, but somehow she had to think his intended course of action might lead to even greater disaster… assuming such a thing was possible. “Maybe you should think hard on if you really want to talk to my dad.”

“I don’t have to think. I know.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “You know? You know what? What do you know?”

“What I want.” He hesitated and then said firmly, “It’s you.”

Tears rolled down Sam’s face. She spotted Mick out the corner of her eye, watching stoically. She lowered her voice and said, “Stop screwing things up.”

“I will. I love you.”

They were only hundreds of miles apart, but she felt as if there was a gulf of millions of miles between them. “I love you,” she said across the span. “I—Hopper?” There was silence on the other end. The line had gone dead.

She pocketed her cell phone and looked at Mick.

“Semi-fiances,” he said slowly, “get in there and mess up your heart. Blow your concentration—stomach ulcers, gas, prolapsed bowels—”